


Domina(tion) (K)ink

by Vixen13



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Edging, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masochism, Mutual Pining, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Praise Kink, S&M, Sadism, Scars, Smut, Subdrop, Subspace, Topspace, Wade is a hot mess, a touch of humiliation kink, accidental kink scenes, d/s dynamics, this fic escalates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:09:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25039030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vixen13/pseuds/Vixen13
Summary: Wade gets off on pain. Wade gets off on praise. These things aren’t really a big deal until he accidentally pops a raging boner while getting a tattoo. The weird part is that his artist, Peter, doesn’t appear to mind.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 121
Kudos: 814





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After months of stalling on this, I wrote 10k in a haze over the course of two days. Don't judge me too harshly. I just wanna complete and post something for the first time in forever. T.T
> 
> Special thanks to K_Vader for tattoo advice and Jennicide for scary scar info and beta reading! Also thanks to my roommate for coming up with the Delilah character.

Wade had long determined that all tattoo artists were rude little shits. He had cycled through quite a few, all of them with a variety of reactions to him, but all of them giving him the same message: he was not welcome back. Which was why he had no idea how to respond to the person in front of him. He absolutely could not have heard what he thought he had just heard.

“Come again?” Wade asked.

“Well, I don’t have a full client list,” Peter explained. “So I have more availability than most. I can block off an hour near the end of my shift twice a week or so.”

Peter was one of several tattoo artists at a little shop called Domina Ink. He wasn’t new, but he also didn’t have years of experience under his belt, meaning he didn’t have a huge client list and could take walk-ins, that much was clear. It was also glaringly obvious why Peter didn’t have regular clients, and Wade figured that was the reason the receptionist had tossed him at the problem child of the tattoo parlor.

The thing was, Peter was a blank canvas, not a tattoo or piercing in sight, and sported a mess of natural brown hair over big, innocent eyes, all wrapped up in a lanky frame. He was the total opposite of what one expected to find when walking into a tattoo and piercing shop.

“Uhhh…” Wade rubbed one hand up and down his left arm. It felt numb today even though he knew that was just his nerve damage being a little shit, like usual. Still, it made him feel like he needed to encourage blood flow back into a sleeping limb. “We haven’t even discussed the tattoo I want, though?”

Peter nonchalantly waved at Wade’s scarred skin and variety of unfinished or barely started tattoos that weaved between the warped flesh. “It’s clear you have nerve damage.”

Wade opened his mouth to demand how exactly that was clear. One can’t assume there’s nerve damage just because of full-body burn scars! But Peter jumped in before Wade could get going.

“I used to be a med student. My parents are doctors. I know third-degree burns when I see them, and that means nerve damage.”

Wade’s teeth clacked shut.

“ _So_ I know your pain levels will fluctuate unexpectedly. If we set a consistent schedule, I can work on your good days and skip your bad days. Since it’s at the end of my shift, I’ll already be here and my equipment will be ready, so if you’re having a bad day, I won’t have to charge you.”

“Oh.” Wade’s brain stalled. None of the other people he’d seen had been this accommodating, especially not right out of the gate. It had to be the medical background. “Did you quit doctoring and start tattooing to piss off your parents? Is this a rebellious phase? I bet you were a good kid, so this is a delayed rebellious phase.” Shit. He was rambling again. Yet another reason people refused to work with him.

Peter smirked. “I wasn’t exactly an angel. Don’t worry, I’m not going to quit and head back to doctoring before we finish.”

“Well, that’s a relief. Last thing I need is another unfinished tat.”

“You do seem to have a collection, and I’m sure that cost you a fair bit. I imagine that one,” Peter pointed to a smudge of ink that was supposed to be a katana but never made it beyond a few squiggly lines before the artist had called it quits, “cost you fifty dollars just for setup.”

“Seventy, actually,” Wade muttered. That fucker had definitely not received a tip after his long lecture about Wade being unable to sit still.

Peter scrunched up his nose, which made him look even cuter and all the more out of place. “Well, you’ve dropped enough money on little things, so I don’t want to charge you more than I have to.”

“And you, uh, don’t mind working over other people’s stuff?” Most artists in the area had some kind of Code of Honor that stopped them from completing someone else’s art. Well, Wade didn’t have much of a choice when nobody wanted him back in their shop.

“If they’re not going to work with you to finish their design, then they can live with me doing it for them.” Peter shrugged. “So, do you want to set up times?”

“Okay,” Wade replied, only slightly hesitant. The world still felt unbalanced, all considering, but he wasn’t about to pass up such a good opportunity. Petey might live to regret it, but that sure wasn’t Wade’s problem.

~*~

Wade had regrets.

His initial consultation had ended with Peter agreeing to do full sleeves on both arms. Wade wanted to start with a band, just to see if Peter would follow through on their deal. A band around the wrist hadn’t seemed like all that bad of an idea at the time. Everything hurt anyways, so his wrist shouldn’t be any worse than higher up on his arm.

Oh, boy. He was wrong.

“Fuck!” Wade thrashed on the table and rolled to the side, but his arm didn’t move.

Lanky Peter had an incredible grip that Wade was surprised to find out he couldn’t pull away from. Every time he yanked and whined, Peter would just press down harder on Wade’s arm, lift his tattoo gun, and wait it out. Once Wade settled, Peter went back to work like nothing had happened. It was a special kind of torture.

It was made all the worse by Wade’s _other_ problem. Pain wasn’t his enemy. Quite the opposite, in fact. His nerve damage made him twitch and flinch without meaning to, and it often felt like some kind of intense burning or itching. However, actual _pain_ pain, like the kind he was feeling now, meant it triggered the masochist in him. He had a raging hard-on.

Peter completed another bold line in his design before Wade began to thrash again, breathing heavy, sweat trickling down the back of his neck, pleasure-pain making him high. He desperately bit back a moan. He’d been kicked out of a shop for that too once. There were a surprisingly high amount of tattoo artists that were not comfortable with Wade jizzing himself on their table.

“You’re doing really well,” Peter soothed, his voice distant and soft in concentration. “You worked so hard to stay still that time. What a good job.”

It was probably just unconscious babbling that Peter was doing, but it sounded like every praise kink porn video Wade had ever watched. _Why oh why_ was Petey pushing all of his kink buttons?

“Yeah,” Wade wheezed, voice scratchy and halfway to destroyed. “I can be good.”

 _Shut up! Stop talking! You sound wrecked!_ He was _not_ in a scene right now and needed to get his act together before he fell to his knees and begged to suck Peter’s cock.

Oh gods, now he was thinking about what Peter’s cock would feel like on his tongue and—

Wade couldn’t control his moan that time. His erection was pounding at the zipper of his pants so hard, he was surprised the whole block couldn’t hear it.

“Deep breaths,” Peter said, voice nearly a whisper and just loud enough to hear over the buzz of the gun.

Like a man possessed, Wade sucked in as much air as his lungs would take simply because Peter told him to. Pain rattled up his arm like a rockslide before tumbling down his spine and pooling in his dick. Bursts of light danced behind his eyelids when he closed them, but opening them wasn’t much better. If his eyes were open, they were inevitably drawn to Peter’s serious and concentrated face. The face he wore while driving Wade out of his mind.

Wade’s right foot planted itself on the table, ready to thrust his hips into the air like a wild animal in heat. He barely stopped himself in time by throwing all of his concentration into kicking his leg out and off the table’s edge. Peter’s hand pressed down hard on Wade’s forearm once more, keeping it immobile. Like bondage restraints.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Wade whined. This was the worst edging scene of his life. Would he get in trouble if he went and jerked one out in the bathroom? What if Peter banned Wade from the store?

 _What if Petey punishes me for it?_ Well, that thought almost had him blowing in his pants right then and there.

“Calm down,” Peter rumbled, his voice darker than it was before. Or maybe that was just Wade’s hopeful imagination. “You can do it. Be good for me.”

Wade whined. Oh, he very much wanted to be good for Peter. “Yes, sir.” And that was the last thing Wade’s arousal addled mind really remembered from that session.

~*~

Wade had lost track of the amount of times he’d stumbled home in exhaustion, fell face down on his bed, and humped a pillow to a mindblowing orgasm that knocked him out into a well-deserved nap afterwards. He was _not_ in a D/s dynamic with his tattoo artist, but his libido begged to differ.

It wasn’t always pain. Sometimes, it would be just a touch too far past tickling — something just on the edge of pain. Of course, he would squirm and grunt and bite his lip, and then the praise would start. Peter would keep up that low and constant stream of words that shot right through Wade’s core. There was no escape for his poor dick.

Twice within the past two months, Wade had had to cancel. He was too sensitive to any touch at all, and he’d felt insanely disappointed in himself. He couldn’t understand why he could handle so much pain one day and then not be able to stand the brush of fleece on another. Those days did not release him from the unintended sexual depravity of Peter’s words.

“We can reschedule,” Peter would say. “I’m glad you’re being honest and paying attention to your body instead of trying to push through. Take care of yourself.”

 _I bet he sounds like this during aftercare,_ Wade’s mind would inevitably supply.

From then on, his imagination would take off. This problem was made all the worse the next time Wade had showed up at the shop and once more apologized for the missed appointment. Peter had brushed it off before he grinned and said, “We don’t want you crying on my table.” And winked.

The little minx _winked_ while Wade was bombarded by images of him being strapped down and sobbing as Peter worked him through more pleasure and pain than a man could handle, all while raining sweet, loving words down upon Wade’s helpless form.

_Fuck._

On the upside, his scars were finally being covered in ink.

Peter’s style wasn’t overly unique or intricate, but what he did do, he did well. He matched his art with every whorl and slash of uneven skin, making the piece look not only natural, but fascinating to look at. Working with the scars gave the layers more depth, made them stand out and call for attention in a good way.

Wade went from people studiously looking away from his botched skin to admiring it and complimenting him. It was something he’d never expected to be able to experience again: strangers giving him positive attention. He was flying so high on it all that he was terrified of crashing back down into reality.

It was at that point Peter flipped Wade’s world upside down — yet again — at their next session.

“You wanted the sleeve all the way up to your shoulder,” Peter mused as he looked over Wade’s bicep, fingers trailing lightly over the sensitive skin and causing Wade’s whole body to feel like he was holding a live wire.

“Yeah,” Wade choked out before clearing his throat. “Both arms.”

Peter hummed to himself as the pad of his thumb brushed across a large section of raised and discolored skin. It warped and pulled in various ways, the colors blending in random patterns around it. The spot was one of the most noticeable, the one that always stood out when Wade caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. It was the one that stretched his skin if he didn’t keep it properly moisturized. The problem scar, he called it.

“I like this one.”

Reality crashed down around Wade’s ears in a roar of white noise. “What?”

“It has a good design to it and really flows with the rest of the piece. I think it could work on its own with just a few details to make it pop. I don’t want to cover it.” Peter looked up with earnest brown eyes. “What do you think?”

 _What did he think?_ Wade couldn’t think of anything. He wanted his scars covered because he hated them — because other people hated looking at them — because not even paying people who owned guns full of ink and needles made them want to touch him. Yet there Peter was, touching Wade and claiming that people would see his scar the same as they saw his tattoos.

“I—” Wade almost choked. He paused long enough to swallow down the lump in his throat. He was _not_ going to cry in front of Peter. “I trust your professional opinion.”

Peter grinned as he looked back down at the lump of scar tissue, his thumb idly rubbing around the edges of it, lighting up the nerves and sending static down to Wade’s fingertips. “Great! This is going to look amazing. It’ll suit you perfectly.”

 _Does that mean he thinks I look amazing?_ Wade was going to have a stroke if Peter kept this up.

“I can’t wait to get started.” Peter plucked at Wade’s shirt, eyes still sparkling with happiness and artistic inspiration. “Take that off while I get set up.”

 _Back to the lines straight out of a porno._ Wade bit back a groan. Petey was going to be the death of him.

~*~

Wade showed up early, fully intending to wait and kill time trying to talk to the woman that owned the place and usually worked the front desk — the Domina of the Ink, as it were. He just needed the distraction. He walked over and picked up the binder of art examples to flip through long enough to inspire a rambling train of thought.

“So how many butterflies do you do a year? Is there a competition among the shops for who does the most?”

Black Cat, as she insisted on being called, smirked. “There is, but the winner is whoever does the least.”

Wade laughed. He’d needed that.

“Peter’s just helping clean up a station, and it’s looking to be a slow night. We can go ahead and get you set up if you’re ready.”

“I see you’re quite keen on getting my money.” Wade waggled his eyebrows.

She grinned at him. “Of course. You’re my best customer.”

Considering he was there often enough to know everyone by name, he didn’t even bother to argue that, he just followed as she led the way into the back. “So how are things? Still aggressively single?”

“I threatened to wear a man’s balls as earrings yesterday, so yes.”

“Most excellent. And I, for one, would have loved to see such a fashion statement.”

“Your support warms my heart. How about you?”

“Hey, Wade,” Hawkeye greeted without looking up from his work.

“Hawks, darling, it’s looking great.”

Hawkeye grunted in response. Everyone had those strange nicknames that felt so common among the alternative scene. Peter didn’t, however, and it was kind of refreshing. Speaking of, he should tell Cat the good news. “Sooo, you’ll be happy to know that Petey is _so_ good at his work, that I actually got hit on over my tats!”

“Oh yeah?” Cat asked as she waved a hand at a table in an open cubicle. She began setting things up herself. “Did you score a date?”

“Eh, almost.” Wade shrugged like it didn’t matter, but it was the reason he’d come early seeking a distraction. “I think the rest of me scared her off.”

“Then she doesn’t know what she missed out on,” Peter’s voice said before he rounded the corner with a smile.

“Petey! Aren’t you looking dashing today?”

Cat eyed Peter’s faded t-shirt and cargo shorts up and down before pulling a face. “Don’t encourage his atrocious wardrobe.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Forgive me for wanting to work in comfortable clothes.”

“Now, now,” Wade chided. “Not everyone can look as good as you do in all leather and stiletto heels.” The mental image of Peter in all leather and stiletto heels popped into Wade’s mind in all its wondrous glory. “Actually, maybe Peter could use a change of pace…”

Peter scrunched his nose. “Don’t encourage her.”

Cat laughed and waved her fingers at the two of them before sashaying off. “You boys have fun.”

“So I take it you’re having a good pain day?” Peter asked as he finished setting up his equipment and pulling on gloves.

“I’m ready to finish up the underside of this arm before it makes me cry anymore. And maybe once I’m all covered in ink, people will stop rejecting me.” Wade said the words bright and easy, trying to convince himself as much as anyone else that he was unaffected.

“I don’t see how anybody could turn you down due to your appearance,” Peter scolded.

Wade did his best not to squirm and ask if that meant Peter thought he was attractive. “I’m sure it was my winning personality and riveting humor.”

Peter smiled. “Sounds like she wanted someone boring, then. Lucky you for escaping.”

“You’re such a good friend.”

And in a way, they _were_ at this point. Hard to see someone multiple times a week and rant about your problems without becoming friends.

“A good friend ready to stab you repeatedly. Now off with that shirt.”

“Ooo, please continue to threaten me with a good time.” Wade ungracefully struggled out of his shirt, perhaps a bit _too_ eager to get to the good stuff this time. It was getting easier to flirt with Peter, though it was clearly only taken as a joke. Still, it helped Wade relax and feel somewhat less guilty for constantly dropping into subspace during every session.

A client with a freshly wrapped tattoo walked by with another artist. He looked over and frowned at plain, nerdy Peter, not even sparing Wade’s extensive scarring a single glance — which was new. The guy didn’t wait long enough before speaking, nor did he soften his voice to a respectable volume before trash talking. “Why does that guy even work here?”

Wade was on his feet and ready to fight before he even realized he was moving. Peter placed one hand on Wade’s chest and pushed with that hidden strength of his, sending Wade stumbling back onto the padded table.

“I appreciate the dedication, but it’s not a big deal.”

Wade pulled his gaze away from the retreating back of the dickwad and up to study Peter. There was an easy smile to match the calm, dismissive voice, but Wade wondered how much of that was real. As someone who regularly covered up his insecurities with that exact carefree tone, he couldn’t help but be suspicious.

“My work speaks for itself.” Peter shrugged. “If someone isn’t looking, then there’s no reason to get worked up over uninformed snap judgements.”

“Yeah…” Wade scuffed the toe of his shoe against the floor. “Still wanna kick his ass, though.”

Peter laughed. “Lay down and save the fight for your tender underarm.”

It sounded like a joke, but Peter was dead serious. The underside of the arm was sensitive as fuck on a good day, and Wade’s skin didn’t _have_ good days. There was also a unique aspect to it beyond the pain. The spot was hyper-sensitive and caused Wade to thrash no matter how he tried not to.

Which meant, of course, that Peter was locking Wade’s arm above his head, which felt like quality rope bondage, and Wade’s whole body lit up with arousal. He was a whimpering, squirming, panting mess by the time Peter called for a break. Wade sagged into the table and hoped he wasn’t drooling. He _also_ hoped his dick wasn’t drooling and leaving a spot on his pants, but he had no energy to lift himself up to check.

He needed a distraction before he started humping the air. His loopy mind cast around for something to talk about and landed on the only thing it could come up with: tattoos. Wow, a real ice breaker, that one. Wade scrunched up his face in an effort to think of some pertinent topic.

“Hey, so, uh… Why don’t you have any tattoos?” he blurted.

Peter was perched on his rolling stool, switching out needles. He tugged his mask down under his chin and smirked at Wade. “Why do you think I don’t?”

Oh, that fucking smirk. Where was the damn tattoo hidden? An increasingly inappropriate slideshow of options flew through Wade’s mind. He wanted to go on a treasure hunt for this elusive tattoo and study it in _great_ detail. No, no! He was supposed to be having _distracting_ thoughts.

Wade coughed. “Oh, well, I guess you had to keep it somewhere hidden because of med school, yeah?”

Peter’s eyebrows rose. “You remember what I went to school for?”

Kill Bill sirens went off in Wade’s head. He was pretty sure he was blushing. “A-ah! It just kinda stuck with me. Quite the change in career paths, that one.”

“I suppose it was.” Peter smiled to himself, eyes going distant and his fingers stilling. “Though I have a lot of reasons to keep my tattoos private. Personal things, mostly.”

“Oh. Sorry,” Wade murmured.

Peter focused back on Wade. “It’s fine. And you look like you’ve recovered. Want to get some shading started?”

Wade sucked in a deep breath and squeaked, “Yeah.” It made Peter laugh as he tugged his mask back into place.

The second round was no easier than the first. Wade was still keyed up and dropping into headspace was a lot easier due to it. His bit back whimpers, and hisses became moans and breathy curses. Peter was leaned over, pinning Wade to the table with his forearm and iron grip. Wade imagined that was what it would feel when pinned down in a primal scene. He wondered what Peter’s teeth would feel like sinking into his flesh, leaving behind a bruised mark for all to see.

Fuck, he was rattling apart at the seams.

“Looks like an early night.” It took Wade longer than he cared to admit to place Black Cat’s voice. The gun stopped buzzing, and he wasn’t sure if he was relieved or heartbroken for the loss.

“Is everyone else done?” Peter asked.

“You can stay.” She spun the keys around her finger before tossing them at the end of Peter’s work table. “You boys keep at it. Lock up for me when you’re done, please.”

“Sure, I can do that.” Peter’s eyes scrunched in what he imagined was a bashful smile. “Sorry, I didn’t realize it was so late already. We got in the zone, I guess.”

“It’s not too late, you just happen to be working the most overtime for once. I’m not going to pass up on a chance at an early night, however.”

“Got a date night with Netflix?” Peter teased.

“Don’t mock my subscription boyfriend.” Black Cat strolled away with a wave over her shoulder. “You two have fun!”

“You guys are close, huh?” Wade slurred, still way too loopy to have a proper filter on his words.

Peter didn’t seem to mind. Of course he didn’t. He was an _angel._ “She’s the reason I have a job, actually. We were friends in college, and she helped me out when I needed a new focus in life.”

“After med school?” Wade imagined Peter in scrubs. It was a nice image. Wade loved doctor/nurse roleplay, too. He wondered if Peter still had his scrubs…

“Mm.” Peter stared off into space for a moment, as if recalling something unpleasant. It yanked Wade back down to earth hard enough that it felt like subdrop. Maybe it was.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories or—”

“No, no! It’s fine.” Peter waved his hand in front of him, as if holding back Wade’s panic. “It’s nothing bad, I promise. It was all my own fault. I was so focused on caring for others that I forgot to care for myself. I overworked and burned myself out, and when that meant I could no longer keep up, I blamed myself for every little thing that went wrong. It just wasn’t a healthy environment for me.”

“Oh…” Wade was not hard-pressed to see perfect Peter desperately trying to help every person he could and feeling guilty over those he couldn’t. He was too nice by far just as a tattoo artist. So as a doctor? A recipe for trouble. “So you decided to take a break?”

Peter laughed. “No, that would have been me being smart. I was forced into a psych eval, and it wasn’t pretty. They put me on short term leave, and after three months, I didn’t feel like I could go back without doing it all over again. So, I decided to do something else until I got my head on straight. I was apparently too ‘overqualified’ to flip burgers, and that was when Cat approached me.”

“Pretty impressive to have art skills _and_ doctor skills,” Wade said.

“Oh, I’m not naturally talented at all!” Peter crinkled his nose, causing the mask to ruck up a little higher. “My parents being doctors was a leg up, like my own personal tutors at home. Then from middle school on, all my friends were into art. A few ended up making webcomics, actually. So naturally, I was dragged into all of that and given pointers constantly.”

Peter ran a finger over the design on Wade’s wrist. It took everything Wade had not to shiver. “It worked out, though,” Peter said.

“Yeah,” Wade breathed. “I’m really glad you took this job.”

“Aw, are you glad you met me?” Peter teased.

“I am,” Wade replied, his voice far too serious sounding for Peter’s playful tone.

A hint of red crawled up Peter’s neck. “No need for flattery. I’ll get back to it.” He picked up his gun.

“You’re still helping people, you know.” Wade offered a loopy grin.

“Oh? By stabbing ink into people’s skin?” Peter asked, humor in his voice.

“You’re helping me get a date,” Wade said, matter of fact. “Maybe the next guy to hit on me will give me his number.”

“I thought it was a girl that hit on you.” Peter raised an eyebrow.

“Oh yeah.” Wade held his free hand up in front of his chest. “Tits.”

Peter snorted.

“Don’ worry. I swing allll ways.” Wade attempted a charming grin, but it likely looked goofy.

“Good to know you’re so accommodating,” Peter said, a private smile lifting his eyes as he looked back down at his work. The pink in his neck darkened just a shade more. “And thank you, for being so nice.” With that, the tattoo gun buzzed before digging into Wade’s skin once more. Whatever Wade would have wanted to say in return was washed away in a tidal wave of pleasure-pain and forgotten.

~*~

Wade had never been more conflicted in his life.

“Now move your arms like this,” Peter said. “Good, good. Hold that.”

One the one hand, he was following Peter’s direct orders and getting praised for it. That sent warm, molten sensations coursing through his veins, settling in his chest and gut. His mind was desperate to go fuzzy and weak, ready to beg for the right to worship Peter properly.

On the other hand, Wade was having his picture taken. He _hated_ being photographed with his scars. Usually, he would have spiraled down into a depressive low, lashed out, and run from the store by now. He couldn’t, though. Not with the other half of his brain drowning in Peter’s sweet words.

Peter pulled the camera away from his face and tilted his head at Wade. It was a nice camera, professional-grade. Apparently, he also had a photography kick once upon a time and did all the nice instagram pictures for his friends’ artwork. Now, he took all the pictures for the shop’s social media and art books.

“I totally forgot to take before pictures,” Peter mused.

Wade’s throat almost seized up. There was no force in heaven or hell that would have made him agree to pictures prior to getting his full sleeves done. He looked away, not wanting to immediately lash out at Peter’s statement. It wasn’t Peter’s fault that Wade hated his skin. In fact, it was thanks to Peter that Wade hated his skin a little less than normal.

Peter must have noticed his slip up, for he abruptly changed the subject. “The lighting from the window really defines your muscles. You look good.”

Was Peter _flirting_? No, no. This was normal, right? Just some professional “make the client feel good” kind of thing. This maelstrom of emotions was going to shatter Wade’s mind for sure.

They stood near the front of the shop in a little alcove that contained nothing but a coffee station and painted brick walls. There was a floor to ceiling window of frosted glass that made for perfect ambient lighting when the sun was out. Wade’s tattoos really popped against the muted grey backdrop. At a glance, his arms almost looked _normal_ — problem scar included.

“Raise your arms up for one more shot,” Peter said. “I want to make sure I have a nice clear picture of all of them at once. Oh! Flex a bit. Yeah, like that.”

If it was noticeable that Wade’s hands were in the go-to position for rope bondage, nobody said anything. This felt like a humiliation scene. Wade would have sworn he wasn’t into that, but the semi in his pants was making a compelling case.

“Okay, I think we’re good.” Peter lowered the camera at last, smiling down into the screen as he scrolled through the shots.

Wade dropped his arms and let out a breath, his whole body sagging a bit in relief. He wasn’t sure why he’d even agreed to let Peter take the photos in the first place. Well, nevermind. He knew. The horny submissive in the back of his head had been screaming, “OBEY MASTER!” for weeks now. It was becoming a problem.

One he didn’t have any desire to fix.

“So, hey…” Wade cleared his throat, forcibly pushing his nerves aside. “I was thinking about my next tat…”

Peter looked up in surprise. “Your next one? You’re still on payments for the sleeves!”

Wade made a face. “It’s fine. I make good money, and I have a pretty little nest egg from the settlement. I’m only paying in installments because it’s easier to budget and easier on your taxes.”

“Still, you should think about it.” Peter frowned. “I don’t want you spending all of your money at once.”

“Believe me, I’m really, really not,” Wade insisted. “I could buy an Audi in cash if I wanted to, is what I’m getting at here.”

Peter laughed, and Wade didn’t, so Peter’s eyes went wide. “Wait, are you serious?”

“Don’t act impressed. Both your parents are doctors!”

That earned Wade a surprised snort, which was fucking _adorable._ “Fair enough.” Peter’s eyes slowly trailed down Wade’s body, and it was like a physical caress. Wade struggled not to shiver and give himself away. “So where did you want the next one?”

Wade swallowed audibly. Head swirling with a mix of emotions and endorphins, he blurted out a very, very bad decision that he would very, very much regret later.

~*~

Side tattoos had, in Wade’s head, sounded like a great idea. He could be facing away from Peter, which would hide his erection, and feel the steel grip on Peter’s palm on his hip. Where was the downside? Well, the downside just so happened to be that he’d spend plenty of time on his back with nothing from the waist down except for a towel to protect his modesty.

Bad, bad decision.

He gripped the towel like a lifeline, but that hardly helped. Instead, it felt like he was just denying himself a good, solid jerk — like he was teasing prior to a night full of orgasms. This problem was compounded by the pain. It didn’t have to rattle up his arm and back down his body anymore. No, it was _much_ closer to his crotch this time, a direct line to his dick that spread heat and arousal to the rest of him like an inescapable flood.

His hard-on was incredibly noticeable.

“It’s a natural reaction,” Peter soothed, his voice deep and soft. “Don’t worry, you’re doing wonderful.”

Wade bit back a groan. It felt like his whole hip was being pounded by a jackhammer, the ground zero to fireworks shooting off and exploding throughout his body as his nerves misfired due to how overwhelmed they were. Truly, it would have been too much in any other situation. He would have called this a bad day and tapped out. He would have, were it not for Peter’s thumb.

As expected, Peter was holding Wade down. The thing was, as Peter’s gun worked over Wade’s hip bone, his free hand was gripping Wade’s thigh. His fingers were splayed, index settled into the crease that led to Wade’s groin, fingertips digging into sensitive flesh, and thumb… Oh, thumb. Peter’s thumb was sliding up and down, slowly and carefully, right where the edges of Wade’s pubic hair would have been.

It was absolutely blissful, mind-numbingly hot, and enough of a pleasure boost for Wade to be able to handle far more pain than normal. He was so far into subspace that he could see Commander Riker’s perfectly sculpted beard.

“Good, so good,” Peter whispered.

It must have been Wade’s imagination that made Peter sound so invested in Wade’s plight. Knowing it was a fantasy did nothing to stop the arousal burning through Wade’s body. “Unnn, please,” Wade whined.

“Just a little more,” Peter murmured. “I know you can take it.”

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. Did Peter have any idea how pornographic he sounded right now? There were people nearby, and that should have been embarrassing, but it just made things hotter. Wade was being dominated and put through his paces, forced to keep quiet and obey, all while in public. Everyone would get to see him be a—

“Good boy.”

Wade whimpered, his cock throbbing. He wasn’t entirely certain if Peter had actually said that, or if it was all in Wade’s head. Not that he cared at the moment. He rocked his hips, ready to fuck the scratchy fibers of the towel just for some relief, but Peter’s hand prevented that entirely. He was unable to move at all due to being pressed into the cushioned table…that was so fucking hot.

It took everything Wade had not to grab his dick and jerk himself to glory. The only reason he didn’t was because his submissive brain was in full control and wanted _permission_ first. He was a lost cause for sure this time. The words spilled from his lips before he could stop them. “Please, please, please.”

“So good, Wade. You’re doing so good.” The needle didn’t stop.

Wade gripped the sides of the table, towel abandoned, toes curling. He dug his head back as he trembled, his cock drooling. He could feel it. Was he really going to cum untouched? Right here in front of perfect Peter? He felt a breath away from it. Or was he going to be tortured on the edge for hours more? He both did and didn’t want that.

He needed to say something, a rational voice in the back of his mind shouted from a distance. Peter hadn’t exactly agreed to the kink scene going on inside Wade’s head. Then again, Peter kept saying it was “a natural reaction” so maybe he wouldn’t care if Wade jizzed himself. He hadn’t cared about all the things the other tattoo artists complained about.

In hopes of getting some insight on this question, Wade lifted his heavy head and looked down. He stopped breathing. There Peter was, face slack, lips parted, pupils dilated. He was hyper-focused on the lines of the tattoo he was filling, his free hand gently pulsing as he gripped and released Wade’s tense muscles.

That thumb. That fucking thumb was still stroking, each small slide filling Wade with more and more fire.

“Oh, fuck,” Wade moaned and dropped his head back. How was he supposed to handle that? Peter looked like he was in fucking _top_ space, mind gone as he pushed Wade to the limits of pain and arousal. It shot a bolt of such pure _need_ through Wade that he choked trying to keep his voice under control.

“Almost there,” Peter said. And yeah, that was the damned problem!

Wade was panting, his dick throbbing, muscles clenching. He was edging, right then and there, going higher and higher at such a steady and slow speed that it was going to drive him mad. He bit hard into his bottom lip, but all that did was confuse his poor nerves even more. _Are we being kissed?_ his instincts asked, and the mental image of Peter kissing him all teeth and growls and praises was Wade’s undoing.

With the most unsexy choked grunt, Wade came into his tented towel and trembled hard enough to rattle the table as Peter _didn’t stop_ and drilled the needles right through the waves of pleasure and into overstimulation. The buzz of the gun refused to cease until a single sob escaped Wade’s throat.

For a time, Wade floated somewhere outside his body, exhausted and limp, blind to the world around him.

A hand sliding over his head finally brought him back down into his body. He blinked blurry eyes until Peter’s face came into focus. Peter was smiling like he was proud, whispering nice things in a soothing voice, though Wade couldn’t catch and hold the words long enough for them to make sense.

 _You’re such a good dom,_ Wade thought with a loopy smile. _Please keep me._

Closing his eyes, Wade was out like a light and slept a solid fifteen minutes right there on the table, dirty towel and all.

~*~

Wade gripped the edge of the sink and stared hard at his reflection. “What the fuck did you do?”

It had been three days since The Incident. When Wade woke up, Peter had fussed, making Wade sip a sports drink, eat a cookie, and wrap up in a soft blanket. The earth-shattering orgasm Wade had had wasn’t spoken of, though Peter had provided a robe so Wade could head to the bathroom with his pants to get cleaned up. The tattoo still had a lot of work to go on it. Wade wasn’t sure how he was supposed to get through those sessions.

Or worse, how he was supposed to look Peter in the eye.

It was strange how Wade hadn’t been bothered when he’d blown a load in front of other tattoo artists. He had expected them to yell at him, and they hadn’t disappointed. Still, it didn’t bother him. He was the opposite of a prude, accepting his reactions (and kinks) as a part of himself and moving on. All he’d wanted before was for the other artists to move on as well and act like it wasn’t a big deal. Just like Peter had.

But Wade didn’t want Peter to act like that. Wade wanted Peter to strap him to a table and keep going until he sobbed while begging for more.

Wade smacked his forehead onto the mirror and cursed. “What the fuck are you doing?”

He wanted to cancel his next appointment. It’d be easy to do so. All that was required was to send Peter a text that said his scars were burning too much, or itching like ants, or felt like he was being sliced open. He’d receive a polite text telling him to take care of himself and stay hydrated, which felt like such a caring dom thing to say…

Wade groaned. He knew, his reflection knew, his phone knew, the neighbor’s dog knew, everyone in the shop knew, Wade wasn’t going to bail on his next session. No, he was a masochistic addict that was too horny for his own good.

He pulled back from the mirror and stared at his arms, turning them this way and that to see the seamless designs of his sleeves. Well, even if his thirsty, kinky urges weren’t a problem, he’d still go back. He could _look_ at his arms now. Other people looked at his arms now. They weren’t some hideous mess that had to be shied away from. He could wear tank tops in summer now!

The more ink he got, the more comfortable he’d feel in his own skin, he knew that. And Peter was the key.

The problem scar moved into view and Wade paused. Sometimes he didn’t even notice it was there. Once, he even managed to forget about it until it tugged at his skin and it occurred to him that it had been too long since he’d moisturized it. Truly, it looked like part of the art around it. He reached up and ran a thumb over it in the same way Peter once had.

“Maybe you aren’t so ugly after all,” Wade muttered at it. “Maybe you just needed the right surroundings to look pretty.”

~*~

As expected, Peter didn’t say anything about Wade cumming all over himself. The next few sessions were a special kind of torture as Peter allowed more breaks so Wade could gather his wits. Logically, Wade was grateful for this. Deep down, he hated it because it meant being edged constantly. It took everything he had not to hit the bathroom at the shop and jerk off instead of waiting until he got home.

In an effort to help himself, he knocked one out prior to his appointments now. That plus the extra breaks meant he didn’t jizz on the table anymore, though it was still in debate as to whether or not that was a good thing. Especially when he was face down with Peter’s hand pressing into his ass to keep him still.

Ugh, what sweet, blissful torture.

On the upside, Peter had come to terms with the fact that Wade intended to rain money in an attempt to cover himself head to toe in ink. Now, instead of Wade using Peter’s number only to text when he couldn’t make an appointment, Peter was sending Wade pictures of tattoo ideas and thoughts on where to place them. Their little conversations had Wade grinning like a lovestruck idiot, and he refused to berate himself for that. He deserved something good in his life, damn it.

Their text only policy didn’t change until one fateful night when Wade had a nightmare.

Nightmares weren’t uncommon for him, especially after his accident. But his time… 

This time, it had started off nice. He was in a room full of people, chatting and smiling, everyone interacting with him like he was fun to be around. They would compliment him and his tattoos, his outfit, his physique. Wade was preening under all the attention he so desperately craved in his waking hours.

But then a curtain pulled back and everyone was laughing. It had all been a joke, one big prank at Wade’s expense. He was surrounded by jeering whispers of just how ugly he was and how stupid he’d been to fall for their trap. He gripped the bars of the cage they’d placed him in, like a tiger on display in a zoo. They all looked at him with fear and fascination.

“Where’s Peter?” Wade kept yelling, over and over. He knew that if Peter was there, he’d open the cage, make everyone leave.

“Who is Peter?” someone asked.

“A hallucination, surely,” someone else responded.

The ringleader of the circus slammed his cane against the bars of Wade’s cage. “How many times do I have to tell you? There is no Peter!”

Wade was crushed by the loss, devastated at losing the one person who treated him like a human and not a monster in a cage. Worse, he was terrified of his own mind that had created such a vivid untruth. Maybe Wade belonged in the cage. Maybe he was too crazy to be let out. He sank to his knees and sobbed.

It was the sobbing that woke him up, his face wet and chest heaving. He was shaking as he blindly groped for his phone in the dark, squinting in pain as the screen flared to life. He dialed the number before he could stop himself, before rationality flooded back into his panicked brain.

“Hullo?” answered a sleep deep voice, rough on the edges. Wade wasn’t even in a mind to be able to appreciate the sound of it.

“P-peter?” he asked, voice thick with tears and strained.

There was a pause before Peter’s voice returned, slightly more alert and filled with concern. “Wade? What’s wrong?”

“I’m s-sorry. I shouldn’t have called. It’s so stupid. I—”

“Wade.” Peter’s voice was filled with a kind of authority that had Wade sucking in a sharp breath. “Don’t apologize, just tell me what’s wrong, no matter what it is.”

How could Wade resist Peter’s dominant but caring demand? His bottom lip trembled before he blurted with increasing shame, “I had a nightmare. Please don’t laugh.”

“I’m not laughing,” Peter soothed, his voice still wonderfully deep and crackling, and that sound was slowly piercing through Wade’s tumultuous mind. “You want to tell me about it?”

 _No,_ Wade thought, but he figured he owed at least that for having called Peter in the middle of the night. “It was a prank,” Wade whispered, unable to say it any louder lest he risk crying again. “They were nice to me, but it was a prank. I was in a cage and they pointed and laughed, said I was a freak. They said you didn’t exist and I—” he choked off and swallowed hard. Fresh, hot tears dripped down his cheeks.

“I’m right here,” Peter promised. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The normal response would have been, “It was just a dream. Go back to sleep.” and honestly, Wade was telling himself the same thing. Peter continued to defy Wade’s expectations. Such words never left his mouth. Instead, he acknowledged the fear and panic Wade had been filled with and soothed him all the same.

“I’m sorry for waking you up,” Wade managed to say.

“Don’t be.” A smile could be heard in Peter’s tone. “Call me whenever you need me to beat someone up for saying mean things to you.”

Wade huffed a wet laugh.

“I’m serious. I want you to always remember that you’re an amazing and handsome person. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. That includes yourself.”

Peter was too nice. Too nice. Wade buried his face into his pillow to muffle the pathetic sounds he was making. There was a stretch of silence between them, and it must have been clear that Wade was too overwhelmed by Peter’s words to talk, but also still too lost in emotions to speak.

“Want to hear a story?” Peter asked.

“Mmhm,” Wade replied through a layer of pillow.

“Don’t laugh, but I have a 5-foot lego replica of the USS Enterprise that our group of friends in high school built.”

Wade felt himself grinning immediately, perfectly able to imagine nerdy Peter building some massive nerd spaceship. He rolled over onto his side and curled around his phone. “How long did that take you?”

“Oh, months!” Peter lamented. “Someone fell into it or knocked it over more times than we could count. I didn’t think we’d ever finish, which is why we instantly covered it in glue to keep it together once it was completed. The problem was, it was too big to get it out the door after that and the glue meant we couldn’t take it apart.”

Wade snickered as Peter told the tale of The Adventures of Moving the Enterprise. Once finished, Peter insisted on a story from Wade. He immediately launched into too many crazy memories of the trouble he got into back in high school and college. It was effective in completely flipping his frame of mind, making him relax and forget about the nonsense dream he’d had.

By the time he’d talked himself out, there was nothing but deep breaths and light snores on the other end of the line. Wade couldn’t blame Peter, it was nearly 3:30am and neither of them had slept long. For a time, Wade closed his eyes and listened to the soft sounds of Peter sleeping, smiling at the occasional rustle of the sheets. He had to admit now more than ever before that he was head over heels for Peter, and there was no cure for it.

“I really like you,” Wade whispered into his phone. There was no response, just a soft snore followed by a heavy breath. Wade smiled, sleepy enough himself that he couldn’t even open his eyes. “I wish you liked me back.”

Reaching up, he smacked his phone to end the call and let sleep drag him under once more.

~*~

Wade was face down on the table and gripping the top for dear life. On the upside, his dick was hidden from view. On the downside, his dick was getting a lot of pressure by being pressed into the table. Oh, and his ass was on full display because the stupid tea towel wouldn’t stay in place.

“If you keep bucking your whole torso like that, it’s going to yank the gun no matter what I do,” Peter said.

With great effort, Wade bit back a whine. “Sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Shhh, it’s alright,” Peter hushed, his fingers idly tracing the patterns of scars on the opposite hip. It wasn’t at all helping Wade stay focused. “I’m saying that I can work around the area that’s sensitive, but I’m not sure how to fill it in.”

Wade gulped down air. “Maybe there will be a numb day?”

The spot in question was in the dip of Wade’s lower back. He had squirmed at the feeling of the lines being set in place and nearly came off the table the moment the gun touched him there. Peter was right, they needed another way to keep Wade still to finish the piece.

“But it’s not hurting you, right?” Peter asked. “You’re reacting differently than with other spots.”

That was the worst part, really. It didn’t hurt exactly. Wade was hard-pressed to say what the feeling was. It was something over the line of tickling and just under a taser. It lit up every nerve in the area, forcing his muscles to clench and his body to jerk whether he wanted to or not. It was impossible to control, and he had a sneaking suspicion that it had to do with the nerve cluster healing weird under that particular patch of warped skin than anything else.

Which meant it could potentially take years before he felt a different kind of sensation there.

“It’s not going to get finished.” Wade didn’t mean to sound like a toddler who had lost their first balloon, but, well, he’d done far more embarrassing things in front of Peter at this point.

There was a long pause from Peter. The gun was off and silence built between them. Wade both did and didn’t want to turn around to see Peter’s thinking face to find out what was going on. Finally, Peter sucked in a deep breath and said, “I might have an idea.”

“Might?” Wade asked.

“Well…” There was another strangely long pause. “It would be a bit unconventional.”

The image of Peter sitting on Wade’s back, small knee pressing large body into the table, came to mind. “I like unconventional!” Wade blurted.

The gun abruptly clicked back on. “I’m going to finish around the area. We…we can discuss it later.”

Was that nervousness in Peter’s voice? What was he thinking about? The suspense was eating away at Wade! Thankfully, he had burning pain to distract him as Peter continued to work on all the places he could. It wasn’t until Peter declared that they were “as done as they could be” and was packing up before he elaborated.

“I wouldn’t be able to do it here,” Peter said, back turned to Wade, which was unusual. The back of his neck looked flushed.

“Oh?” Wade asked, still not ready to sit up yet, or really to form words yet. He was still pretty high from pain, and his dick was playing Wipeout on the table for how much it was twitching and throbbing. “Where, then?”

Silence. And then, “My place.”

Wade was pretty sure his heart stopped beating. His mouth dropped open, eyes bugging out of his head, dick trumpeting to the heavens in glorious expectation. “Y-your _house_?” Wade choked.

“My apartment, yeah.” Peter didn’t turn around. He was being extremely methodical about cleaning his equipment.

Words of all sorts slammed into Wade so hard they were stuck in his throat. Peter’s shoulders were tense, like he was anxious for an answer. Was it against policy to invite a client home like this? Probably. Wade would definitely have to stay hush-hush about it. As much as he’d want to brag to everyone in the shop, he would do anything to have this honor.

“If you’re uncomfortable with the idea, just say so,” Peter babbled a little too fast. “I’m definitely not pressuring you into anything. You can back out at any time—”

“Yes!” Wade cried, a little too loud. The murmurs of voices in the other cubicles cut off in surprise. With great mental effort, Wade lowered his voice. “I’ll go. Yes. I’d love to.”

Peter finally turned around, mask dangling from one ear and a bashful smile on his face that would have made Wade swoon if he wasn’t already laying down. “Sounds like a plan, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -image made on canva with free use stock photos by me


	2. Chapter 2

Wade had to clamp down on his excitement as he entered Peter’s apartment. What he wanted was to run around and investigate everything like an over-excited puppy, but he managed to control the urge. Barely. What he did see showcased how much of a nerd Peter truly was, with figurines and wall scrolls decorating the living room.

“Is that a Deku figurine?” Wade asked as he slid closer to a bookshelf full of manga.

“So I like superheroes, who doesn't?” Peter asked, a touch too defensive. “Come on, I have everything set up in the—the, uh, spare room.”

Wade was immediately curious as to what Peter normally called his “spare room.” Of course, that question wasn’t in the air for long. The answer ran over Wade like a truck when the door opened and revealed his wildest fantasies come true. Peter stood to the side, shoulders drawn up around his ears and fingers fidgeting. He didn’t look Wade in the eye.

“If it’s too much for you—”

“No!” Wade interrupted. He cleared his throat and reined in his volume. “No, I’m perfectly comfortable in this sort of environment.”

“Right. Sure.”

Perhaps Wade would have been a tad awkward after that little exchange, but his entire mind was focused on one thing: Peter’s spare bedroom was a dungeon. Well, that perhaps made it sound more ominous looking than it did. The space was cozy and inviting, but it was also decorated in dark colors, had a variety of impact toys hanging from hooks on the wall, and a few pieces of kink furniture. The one pulled out into the middle of the room and ready to be used was a bondage table.

 _Holy shit, he’s going to tie me to the table,_ Wade thought, and his dick filled out so fast he was left lightheaded.

“So, um,” Peter hurried over to a pile of straps. He picked one up. It was heavy and leather, the bulk of it cushioned and comfortable looking despite how decidedly unbreakable it appeared to be. “These are soft, and I treat them regularly.”

 _Of course he does,_ Wade thought wildly.

“Most people have said they’re very comfortable, but they don’t allow for much wiggle room. The best part is that they don’t dig in or leave marks if they’re pulled against.”

Which meant Wade could fight all he wanted and not be able to move an inch. He bit back a groan of desire. “Sounds perfect,” he all but wheezed.

“So, I was thinking we could immobilize you long enough to finish that spot. That is…” Peter worried at the leather in his hands. “That is, if you’re comfortable with this. You can say no at any time! I understand if this is crossing a line. And you can call it off, even if we’re in the middle of inking. Just say stop whenever, and I’ll let you out immediately—”

“Oh, Peter,” Wade breathed. “Nothing would make me happier than being strapped down by you.”

He expected Peter to roll his eyes, or maybe blush, or most likely scold Wade for not being serious. Instead, something flipped behind Peter’s eyes. Something that had shivers running down his spine and his heart beating faster. It was a dark and anticipatory look that rumbled “obey” into Wade’s very bones, and he had no desire to refuse that order.

“Wh-where do you want me?” Wade asked, his voice already breathless with anticipation.

Peter waved at the headrest that would cushion around Wade’s face but allow him to breathe while lying face down. “Undress and get comfortable. Let me know if anything is too tight or in a bad spot, I’ll adjust as many times as you need.”

 _The most courteous dom,_ Wade thought to himself. Stripping down in front of Peter felt a little surreal, like this was all a dream Wade would wake from at any moment. Crawling onto the table was an oddly weightless endeavor. He floated, feeling outside of himself, as he settled into the cushioned table. It wasn’t until the first strap across his shoulders was being set in place that it felt real.

His nerve endings popped and crackled as the cushioned strap was cinched into place, one spot burning something fierce, but he didn’t say anything. He liked those flares of pain. They kept him grounded, reminding him that this was reality, and Peter really was using kink equipment in his own home _on Wade._

Fingertips trailed along the pattern of scars that twirled out from the edges of the thick strap. Wade’s toes curled. There was too long of a pause before Peter’s dreamy voice asked, “Good?”

“Good,” Wade almost moaned.

Next came Wade’s wrists. The cuffs were unique, with pieces that went across his palms that he could grip and were elongated to halfway up his forearm. It meant he couldn’t turn or wrench his wrist no matter what way he tugged. The points were secured to hooks at the head of the table before bicep cuffs were secured along the sides, connected again by a length of leather that settled over the cushioned strap already across Wade’s shoulders. He’d be lucky to move his arms even an inch like this.

“Comfortable?” Peter asked.

 _Blissful,_ Wade wanted to reply, but he settled for, “Yes.”

Next was a strap the size of a waist cincher that settled over his mid-back. Likely, it was meant to go over his hips, but that area had to be open for the tattoo. Locking the strap down tight meant he couldn’t take a full breath. He didn’t mind. It was no worse than a corset (of which he had experience, thank you for asking), and a little breath control made things much more fun.

Not that he was in a kink scene… Well, he was pretty sure he wasn’t in a kink scene. Then again… Wait, was he in a kink scene?

The leather that wrapped around his thighs was attached to another long strap of leather that tightened under the table. It prevented him from being able to dig his knees in to get traction. He couldn’t lift his hips up or push down, which meant his dick was trapped against his stomach, rock hard and beginning to drool.

Perhaps he could have found purchase with his feet, but that was averted as well. Wade couldn’t see it, but whatever Peter strapped to Wade’s feet kept his toes pointed prior to his ankles being locked in place. He could flex his toes, but he wouldn’t be able to bend his feet in any way to help him push against the table or kick out on reflex.

All the points where leather pushed into his skin tingled, making his whole body sensitive to every little touch. That should be a concern. That spot on his low back causing the issue was touchy enough as it was. He’d be screaming by the time they were a minute in. Would Peter think Wade was weird if he begged for a gag?

“How are you feeling?” Peter asked, his hand stroking up the back of Wade’s calf at a snail’s pace. It felt so intense, soothing, pleasurable, and crackling with pain all at once. Wade’s chest pushed against the confines of the widest strap as he sucked in air.

“Feels good,” Wade slurred.

“If you need to stop or to be let out at any time, just say so. All the restraints have quick releases on them.”

Of course they did. It was clear Peter only got the best. “Okay.” Wade did his best to make his voice loud enough to pass as attentive. He was slipping into headspace quick, and it was making him a touch nonverbal. He knew better than to give half-ass responses to a careful top, however. They’d call the whole scene off before it got started if they felt the bottom wasn’t paying attention to safety. Peter was definitely the careful sort.

“Don’t worry about getting a little loud,” Peter added. “I put soundproofing in the room. It’s not perfect, but it helps muffle any weird noises the neighbors might hear.”

How fucking dedicated. Wade was in love with Peter being the kinkiest little shit in such a sweet and nerdy package. “Sounds perfect,” Wade said, his voice more than a touch dreamy.

Peter huffed out a laugh. “Alright, I have everything set up, so I’m going to get started.” Wade heard the snap of gloves, but all he could see was the thick rug a few feet under his face. “Let me know if you need anything, especially if you start having a muscle cramp, okay?”

“Yes, sir,” Wade replied, his mind already falling away.

The wonderful floating sensation he had from being so securely bound didn’t lessen when he heard the sound of the gun. Instead, he sank further, his muscles turning to goop as the small flares of pain and pleasure washed over him. Arousal thrummed at a steady pace from his groin outwards, tingling at the tips of his fingers. He was at peace.

And then the needles sank into the trouble spot.

The shout ripped from Wade’s throat was guttural and harsh. His entire body lit up like he’d been struck by a lightning bolt. Once the initial shock faded, the familiar sensation of too much intensity pierced straight through his low back and shot up his spine. His muscles tensed and trembled, his gasps for air were cut short, his jerks of movement hit resistance time and time again.

There was no escaping the sensation this time, no way to pull away for a few seconds of relief. Instead, his nerves misfired constantly in crackling flares throughout his body, blending with the points of burning or stabbing pain. All of it tipped over and poured into that well of pleasure inside of him, swirling and mixing until he couldn’t tell the difference anymore. All he knew was that he felt it through his entire body and the only thing he could do was lie there and take more and more and more.

“Yes!” Wade heard himself shout from a distance, voice rough and desperate. “Please! More!”

And more was what he got. He trembled and whined and moaned. The buzz of the gun fading away as his ears rang and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. He wanted to thrust his hips, to hump the table like an animal in a desperate attempt at release, but he was trapped. All he could do was take it and pray for mercy.

He loved it.

Words left him, his higher brain function shutting down. He made deep noises from his chest, head spinning as the strap over him controlled how much air he was allowed to take in. The world around him fell away, all that was left was this heady mix of pleasure that was beyond the threshold of what he thought he could take.

“So good, Wade.” He groaned at the sound of those words. It was clear Peter had been holding back before, keeping this voice out of his professional life. Now, he was letting go, the sound of it deep and possessive in a way that pulled at the part of Wade who was desperate to please and serve. “You’re so amazing, taking so much. I knew you could do it.”

Yes! Yes, Wade could do it. He could do anything Peter asked. Wade would be _so good_ for Peter.

“Does it hurt?” Peter asked, his voice lilted, like he was pleased — like he was enjoying how overwhelmed Wade was. “Do you want it to hurt more?”

Wade moaned, loud and eager. Fuck yes, he wanted it to hurt more. The whole scene was already more than he could handle, his mind falling apart, his body ripping at the seams, but never had he been happier. He _wanted_ to be pushed this far, wanted to prove he could take it, prove he could take even more, and then be praised and rewarded for it. More, more, more, he wanted more, he wanted to be the best Peter had ever seen — better than anyone in the world.

“Just a little longer. You can take it, right?” Peter cooed.

Wade choked back a shout of what he knew would be incoherent words. His tongue refused to form the drifting curses and pleas bouncing around his head.

Peter clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Good boys don’t hold back their noises. Let it out.”

For a moment, Wade’s mind blue screened before he released a shout of half-formed words and groans of pleasure. He tried so hard to thrust his hips. The leather creaked at his attempts. A searing palm landed on his ass and pushed him harder into the table, compressing his dick, but keeping even the smallest movements at bay. It wasn’t enough. Wade was so desperate to cum. He whined and moaned and made the most embarrassing of needy noises punctuated by hiccups of pain.

“Almost there,” Peter said, his voice breathy in a way Wade wasn’t expecting to hear, like they were both suffering from denied release. Was that true? Was Peter enjoying this just as much as Wade was? Did Peter think of Wade as someone that brought pleasure, something to be desired? “You’re so wonderful, Wade. So perfect for me.”

Wade _sobbed_ , his cock drooled, and a string of saliva dripped from the corner of his lips. Pain rattled him all over, his skin was on fire, angry ants marched along the bondage points. _More, more._ His stomach was trembling and fatigued from his involuntary attempts to escape, his toes were curled so hard they were cramping, tears streamed down his cheeks. _I can take it, I swear._ His chest felt bruised from trying to expand, he was dizzy and choking down air, Peter’s hand on his ass felt like sweet agony. _Please don’t stop._

“So close,” Peter whispered, and Wade barely heard it over the rushing in his head.

 _I’m so close!_ Wade’s mind screamed. Pleasure throbbed from groin to belly, coiling tight and insistent. He needed to cum so bad he’d do anything just to be allowed the honor.

 _Click._ It was less that Wade heard the buzzing stop and more that he noticed the heavy silence in the absence of the white noise. It pressed on his ears in the same way it felt like something pressed on the inside of his skin now that the intense sensation of the needles in that spot had stopped. His muscles went boneless and sagged on the massage bed twitching in random places as his nerves misfired.

He moaned in distress. He was still on the edge, still so close to release, but he didn’t even have the strength to try and rut against the soft leather under him.

“Shhh,” Peter soothed, his hand stroked over the globe of Wade’s ass and down one thigh until it was stopped by the strap. “You did so good. I’m so proud of you.”

“Hnnng,” Wade’s cock valiantly twitched with an effort to jerk itself off between Wade’s body and the table.

“Let me clean this up and wrap it, sweet thing.”

 _He called me sweet,_ Wade’s mind unhelpfully supplied. He loved the little nicknames he was receiving — wanted more of them. All the nicknames.

Wade wasn’t sure if he was sensitive and time was still feeling so slow for him, or if Peter truly was taking extra time cleaning the area. Careful little strokes and caresses, languid and lingering. Wade panted for breath as he focused on the feeling, almost whining when he felt the fresh tattoo being covered and blocked from Peter’s gentle fingers.

“Time to sit up,” Peter said, voice soft and encouraging. The straps were released and carefully pulled away from Wade’s sensitive skin, though every pink spot formed from all the thrashing still hummed with lingering sensation. “Don’t sit up too fast. Take it easy.”

Wade allowed himself to be pulled up, Peter effortlessly taking Wade’s larger weight and adjusting them with practiced proficiency. It must have been all that med school training. Wade blinked slowly, the room around him blurring in and out of focus. His legs dangled over the side of the table. He looked down and saw his erection, dark and drooling, twitching with need.

“I think you deserve a reward,” Peter said. Wade’s eyes slid over. The world came into sharp focus as he fixated on the tent in Peter’s pants. He _was_ aroused by everything they’d done. By Wade. Peter wanted this, and Wade very much wanted his reward. “I made some cookies yesterday and—”

A muted thump in the room as Wade hit his knees. His mind lit up with mixed signals of pain and pleasure, and he wasn’t sure which one he felt shooting up his legs and to his hips, but he did know it settled right into his dick. He didn’t care about that right now, though. What he cared about was the crotch he was now eye level with.

He pressed his face into the warm fabric hiding Peter’s erection. He breathed deep, moaning at the musk of Peter, at the hint of sweat underneath it all. He mouthed at the hard flesh, hyper-aware of the cotton’s texture on his lips while his hands came up to slide along the underside of Peter’s thighs. Wade cut his eyes up at Peter in complete submission.

“Please, sir,” Wade groaned, voice scratchy and wrecked. “Please let me suck your cock.”

Blown pupils surrounded by a small ring of crystal clear brown gazed down at Wade in wonder. Peter’s cheeks were flushed, his hair tousled. He looked delectable. A hand caressed the back of Wade’s head in a barely-there touch that had Wade shivering. He whined, nuzzled more insistently at the treat he was being denied.

Oh, he wanted the weight of Peter’s cock on his tongue, wanted to taste it, feel its heat. He wanted Peter to grab the back of his head and yank him down on it, wanted to choke and swallow to prove how good he was. He wanted to taste Peter’s release, hold it in his mouth, stick out his tongue to show Peter how much he appreciated the chance to have it bestowed upon him.

“Please,” Wade begged.

Peter’s chest heaved, his eyes widening, the desire there was enough to take Wade’s breath away. Peter swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. His lips were parted, and his fingers traced the scars on Wade’s skull. Below Wade’s cheek, Peter’s cock jumped. Wade turned and kissed it, eyes half-lidded and dazed.

In a deep, hard voice almost too loud for the room, Peter said, “No.”

The shock jolted Wade. He was ready to beg, to say he’d do anything asked of him to prove he was good, so good, to prove he deserved this reward. Before he could, Peter stepped back, a furrow forming between his eyebrows. His hands left Wade’s skin. Pursing his lips, Peter shook his head, determined and final.

 _What did you expect?_ a voice in the back of Wade’s mind asked. _He just got carried away. Why would he want you now that he’s seeing all of you, naked and disgusting?_

Wade’s chest seized up. He dropped his eyes to the floor and worked on forcing himself to breathe. “Right,” he said, voice soft and trembling. “Sorry.”

“Wait, look at me,” Peter insisted, the deep and dominating tone gone from his voice. Wade turned away and staggered to his feet. Peter made a noise of alarm, his hands immediately reaching out to steady Wade, but the touch burned, and it no longer felt good. Wade jerked away.

“It’s fine. I get it.” He spotted his clothes and snatched them up. “I need the bathroom.”

“We should talk when you get back,” Peter said, the tone of his voice too complicated for Wade to parse at the moment.

Talking was the last thing Wade wanted, though. He had no desire to hear careful platitudes as Peter tried to let Wade down easy. And Peter would, he was a nice guy. Wade might even leave not feeling like complete and utter shit about the situation, but he didn’t want that. Irrationally, he just wanted to run away. His limbs felt heavy and the world around him pressed too close, like a dark and scary space he couldn’t run from.

 _You’re dropping,_ the rational part of his mind said. He ignored it and ran from the room, tripping and cursing over who knew what as he made it to the bathroom. He slammed the door shut, and the noise felt like he’d been shot. Wincing, he sank to the floor and bit back tears, trying to focus on getting his shirt over his head while the cold tile under him stabbed his skin with knives made of ice.

 _You should tell Peter you’re dropping._ Wade gritted his teeth at the voice. Peter would come in with all that sweet and thoughtful aftercare that Wade didn’t want. It would get his hopes up. It would make leaving hurt worse than he hurt now.

Actually, he was starting to feel numb. His fingers were dumb and fumbling, failing to pull his boxers up higher than his knees. The world was dimming on the edges. He gave up and let his head fall back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling with dead eyes. Just a moment. Just a moment to wallow in his misery and then he’d go back out there with a smile and thank Peter for being the most accommodating tattoo artist ever. Wade would apologize for being selfish and emotional. Nobody owed Wade anything, especially Peter.

And Wade already knew that nobody would ever want him again, so there was no need to be so disappointed. It wasn’t Peter’s fault.

_Just a moment. I’ll sit here just a moment._

Wade isn’t sure how much time passed after that. He knew his face was wet and it was occasionally hard to breathe. His throat hurt. Intermittently, there were knocks at the door and someone called his name. He didn’t snap out of it until a rattling caught his attention. He looked up to see the lock on the doorknob twisting. It must have been Peter. Wade’s chest seized before the door pushed open and a panicked Peter came flying into the room.

“Oh, fuck!” Peter said, his voice strained and worried. “I should have known you were going to drop. You were way too far under. I’m so sorry.” A fluffy blanket was tucked around Wade’s body, exceedingly soft to the touch, and then Peter’s heavy presence was wrapped around him in a comforting hug. “I’m going to get you something to drink okay? I’ll be right back.”

Peter ran from the room, colliding into the doorframe with a curse. Wade almost felt like laughing at how rattled Peter was. From the beginning, Wade knew that Peter would be like this. All soft and caring, ready to do whatever Wade needed. All that thought did was squeeze more tears out, though.

Peter tumbled back into the bathroom and held a sports drink up to Wade’s lips. “Here. Sip at it, a little at a time.”

As much as Wade wanted to refuse, he followed orders. Part of him didn’t want to feel better. The rest of him didn’t want Peter to see him this way. So he drank and accepted the concerned words that rained down on him. He even obediently opened his mouth to eat a cookie. It was homemade and delicious. It made Wade cry more.

Eventually, Peter sat next to Wade on the hard tile floor. It was nice, feeling Peter’s body cuddled into his, whispering such sweet things, telling him it would be okay. As wonderful as it felt, it caused guilt to burrow in Wade’s chest. He hadn’t meant to push Peter into this sort of thing, cuddling up with a client who was too sensitive to take what was honestly a rather nice rejection.

“I’m sorry,” Wade whispered.

“It’s not your fault,” Peter shushed. That didn’t help Wade feel any better.

“It is. I was expecting too much, and you don’t owe me anything, and I—” He swallowed down the start of a sob. “I’m a mess and now you feel like you have to be here like this with me and—”

Peter abruptly moved to his knees and shuffled in front of Wade, eyes blazing. It was such a shock to see Peter mad that Wade’s teeth clacked shut. Hands reached out and cupped Wade’s face, forcing them to look at each other even though Wade just wanted to hide.

“That is not what happened.”

“Wh-what?” The world tilted. What was going on? This wasn’t part of the script Wade expected Peter to play.

“I like you, Wade Wilson. I am interested in doing dirty, kinky things with you. I also want to curl up on the couch and watch movies with you. I want to take you out to dinner and watch you eat all your favorite foods as you tell me about anything and everything.”

Wade was gobsmacked. He couldn’t possibly be hearing what he thought he was hearing. Then again, that was likely why Peter was elaborating instead of stopping at, “I like you.”

“B-but—”

“No buts.” That powerful authority snuck into Peter’s voice, and Wade immediately shut up, his eyes damn near bugging out of his head. “We haven’t talked about any of this,” Peter continued. “You were too far gone in there to make good decisions, and you’re too far gone right now, as well. I’m not going to do anything to or with you without guaranteeing that it’s what you want and are prepared for.”

“But I do want you!” Wade barely kept himself from shouting. “I’ve liked you for months!”

Peter’s eyes softened and a sweet smile tugged at his lips, but he didn’t relent. “You have no idea how happy that makes me, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to change my mind. We haven’t even shared paperwork. Do you know if I’m disease free? Are you prepared for what to do if I’m not?”

Wade blinked as something in his head clicked back into place. “Oh.” Yeah… Yeah, that made sense. You don’t put an unknown cock in your mouth. You don’t play with someone without knowing each other’s limits first. Wade knew this, and he knew how to be safe, but all of that had slipped his mind. He really _hadn’t_ been in a good headspace. “ _Oh_.”

A quirked smile grew on Peter’s lips. “Exactly.”

“You’re kinky, too,” Wade blurted, as if this was somehow new information after everything that had just happened. In his defense, he was still a little loopy.

“I am.” Peter breathed a soft laugh. “But just because you were having a reaction on my table doesn’t mean I can assume that you’re up for more. That said, it’s really hard not to fall into headspace around you.” He tilted his head with a bashful smile. “You’re really hot.”

Wade’s mood skyrocketed. This was not an emotional rollercoaster he’d signed up for, but he was trapped on it anyways. His eyes sparkled up at Peter. “You really think I’m hot?”

Peter’s eyes were suddenly molten. “Yes, Wade. Yes, I do.”

The intensity of that look caused Wade to gulp. Peter’s hands slid down, slow and trailing crackling fire alone Wade’s skin to settle on broad, scarred shoulders. Wade took in a shuddering breath. “Th-then, can we talk about this…sometime?”

“I definitely want to talk about this, yes,” Peter said. He still looked one bad decision away from ravishing Wade — who really, really wanted to be ravished. “I think it’s best that we sleep on it and talk in a public place. You know, so societal pressure makes us stay responsible and keeps our clothes on.”

Wade nodded a little too fast. “Yes. Yes, we should do that, but also with the clothes off after.”

Peter laughed, pulling himself out of that sexy, sexy place he was in his head. “How about for now, we sit on the couch and eat cookies while watching a movie? Then you can go home when you’re ready.”

“I’d really like that,” Wade said in all honesty. Nothing sounded better than curling up next to Peter in order to recover his wits. In fact, he’d probably need that time to constantly remind himself that this wasn’t all a dream. Peter liked Wade. _Like_ liked Wade! “This is really real, right?”

“It’s really real,” Peter confirmed, and to prove his point, he leaned down and kissed Wade atop his head. Really real lips that were better than Wade could have ever imagined so it _had_ to be real!

“I’m so happy,” Wade wheezed.

Not long after, he confirmed that sitting curled into Peter’s side while watching nonsense TV truly was the best thing ever for an emotional hangover.

~*~

There was a little restaurant called Southern Comfort that proclaimed to bring all the best parts of the South to the big city. As far as Wade could tell, that mostly consisted of taking perfectly healthy vegetables and deep-frying them. Not that he was opposed to this. He’d never had fried green tomatoes, but he’d seen the movie. _Towanda!_

Peter had picked the place, deciding that the homey environment of chicken and cow knickknacks would keep them focused. They sat at a small, round corner table facing each other, lace doilies and a tiny vase with tinier yellow flowers set between them. Peter was doing his best to look over the menu while Wade fidgeted in his seat, staring hard at the man who had previously claimed to want to fuck him.

“Patience isn’t your strong suit, is it?” Peter asked, not looking up.

“I brought my paperwork. We could at least trade that right now and get the fucking part out of the way,” Wade immediately replied.

“What can I get you boys?”

They both jumped at the sound of a motherly voice. Wade looked up and spotted the most adorable waitress he’d ever seen in his life. She looked to be in her 50’s, with glittering bits of grey sprinkled into her brown hair which was pulled back in a perfectly styled french braid. She was wearing a frilly apron of powder pink. Wade had just said the word “fucking” in front of her.

He tried to speak, but it came out a garbled wheezing. Peter wasn’t much better. He stared at her with wide eyes, lips clamped shut into a thin line. Wade would bet his last dollar that Peter was regretting this whole “in-public discussion” thing.

“We just made some fresh sweet tea,” the waitress said. Wade’s eyes snapped to her nametag. It had flower stickers surrounding the word Delilah. “No sense comin’ to Southern Comfort and not gettin’ sweet tea. What d’ya think?”

“That’s fine,” Peter squeezed out with a strained smile. “Thank you.”

“Sure thing, sugar.” Delilah winked and walked off. Peter and Wade sagged with relief.

“This is why I told you to have patience!” Peter hissed, sinking down as if he could hide behind his menu.

“You wouldn’t have patience either if you’d been on enforced abstinence as long as I’ve been!” Wade whispered back in kind.

“Just pick something to eat.”

Silence stretched between them as Wade gazed at the menu on the table in front of him. Unable to even process the words he was reading, he just looked over the pictures and did his best to guess what they might be. His leg bounced rapidly, fingers picking at the tablecloth, as words pressed against his lips harder and harder until they blurted out without his control.

“So are we talking play date, friends with benefits, or more? Because I’m down for all of it, so don’t feel like you gotta tiptoe around this if you only wanna beat me and then go to pound t—”

“Here’s your drinks,” Delilah said, two dripping glasses filled with more ice than tea were set on the cute little doilies.

Wade felt like his lungs shriveled inside him as his words failed and the air left him. Peter sank further in his chair, only his bright red ears visible behind the menu. If Wade couldn’t figure out how to control himself in front of motherly Delilah, he was gonna blow any chance he’d previously had with Peter.

“You boys decided on what you want to eat?” Delilah asked, pulling out a pad and pencil.

Unable to speak, Wade jabbed his finger at the first picture he saw. Delilah — sweet, kind Delilah — simply said, “A good choice!” and wrote it down. Peter muttered something that resembled a food order, but saintly Delilah managed to understand it and jot it down as well. With a bright smile, she took their menus and trotted off.

Peter raked his hands down his face. “I didn’t consent to this humiliation scene,” he mumbled.

Despite himself, Wade began to snicker. “I’m sure we’re making for a great story back in the kitchen.”

There was a reluctant smile on Peter’s face as he dropped his hands and turned those warm, brown eyes to Wade. “I’m not going to suddenly vanish, you know? We can take our time.”

Wade shifted restlessly in his seat. “Theoretically.”

Peter’s smile softened, taking on an indulgent look. “Sometimes you remind me of a puppy.”

“Ohhh, you into pup play? I’ve dipped my toe beans in it before.”

Peter snorted. “I’m not surprised. How long have you been in kink?”

“A while.” Wade shrugged. “I used to be more involved locally until, well…” He waved a hand around his face and chest. “It took a long time to heal, so no playing during all that. Afterwards, I was pretty self-conscious about going out.” He shrugged again like it didn’t matter even though both of them knew better.

“Makes sense why I haven’t seen you around the scene.”

Wade’s lip quirked. “You say that like you would have approached me.”

“I would have.”

 _No, you wouldn’t,_ Wade wanted to say, but Peter was making steady eye contact and looked so sincere… “Why?” he asked instead.

“I don’t know if you realize it,” Peter said with all seriousness, his eyes burning into Wade’s, leaving the man breathless and unable to see anything but Peter’s face, “but you look really hot when you’re in pain.”

“Here we are, darlin’,” Delilah said, coming out of nowhere, again. They needed to stop with the intense eye contact and focus on their surroundings. Peter was about as red as a tomato and Wade shoved his hands between his legs to hide his rather abrupt half chub. “That’s chicken fried steak for you with fried okra and collard greens, and frito pie for you. I’ve a basket of hushpuppies for you to split. You boys need anything else?”

“No, ma’am, thank you,” Peter said in a hurry, not making eye contact.

“I’ll leave you two to it. Just flag me down if you need a refill.” With another sunshine smile, Delilah walked off to another table.

They stared at the spread of food in shamed silence for a moment. Wade broke the quiet first, which was unsurprising to anyone.

“What the hell is frito pie?”

“You ordered it,” Peter pointed out.

“Sorta.” Wade scooped up a bite and shoveled it into his mouth. It was a delicious mess, was what it was. “I shouldn’t get addicted to this since I’m not sure if I can show my face here ever again.”

Peter laughed, a little high pitched as he did his best to calm back down. “Yeah, so, we should keep an eye out from now on.”

“Why did you pick this place, anyways?” Wade asked.

“Ah, well.” Peter shrugged. “I’m not sure why, but this has been an unofficial meetup place for kinksters for as long as I can remember. Though I can’t say I’ve ever been this distracted before.” He turned a shy smile down to his food. “You’ve honestly been taking up a lot of my attention lately.”

This time, Wade turned as red as a tomato. “O-oh.”

“So,” Peter said after taking a bite of fried steak. “Let’s talk about things you like and love doing.”

Wade waved his fork around in dismissal. “Whatever you want, I’m game.”

Immediately, Peter set his utensils down and turned a hard look on Wade. “Absolutely not.”

That was more than a little surprising. Wade drew back a bit. “What?”

“This is a negotiation. I want to know your preferences and limits.”

“Look, I’m good with a lot of stuff. Besides, I can handle things even if I don’t like them.” He pointed the fork at himself. “Masochist, remember?”

“No, I don’t remember,” Peter snapped. “I guessed that, but I didn’t _know_ it. You never _told_ me. I don’t even know which dynamic you prefer. Are you a bottom type, and which one? A switch, maybe? A top who _happens_ to be a masochist?”

Wade frowned. “I can be whatever makes you hap—”

“Then we won’t play.” Peter’s face was stern, brooking no argument.

It was suddenly harder to take in air. Wade tried to keep himself calm as he stared down at his conglomeration of food calling itself a pie, his fork jittering against the plate. “I don’t understand. I’m the fucking Ditto pokemon of kink. Why are you so mad about that?”

“Because the first words out of your mouth aren’t ‘these are all the things I enjoy’ it’s ‘I’ll do anything even if it makes me unhappy,’ and I’m not going to be that person to you.”

Wade’s bottom lip trembled. “Th-then… What kind of person do you want to be to me? You’re not saying anything either!”

There was a pause long enough that Wade peeked up at Peter’s now troubled face. Peter sat back and folded his hands in his lap. “I want a boyfriend,” he admitted, sounding surprisingly meek now. “I know that’s really fast to say, and I’m not suggesting that we _have_ to date, only that if you feel like it’s something that you would want in the future, a relationship is what I’m looking for. You don’t have to decide anything right away, though. I’d never ask that of you.”

That was certainly not the answer Wade was expecting. He barely stopped himself from gaping in unadulterated shock. “You want to _date_ me? _Me_?”

Peter tilted his head. “Yes, you. Why are you so surprised by that?”

Wade spluttered. “B-because I’m _me._ I’m annoying and loud and talk too much and get boners at inappropriate times—”

“Here’s a refill,” Delilah said as she dropped two new glasses on the table with a grin. “Everything tastin’ good?”

“Yes,” Peter and Wade squeaked.

“I’m so glad to hear it!” With that, Delilah hurried off like the demon of bad timing that she was.

Peter put his head in his hands. “I swear this has never happened before when I’ve come here.”

But Wade was still too distracted. “You’d really take me out in public?”

Looking up, Peter raised an eyebrow. “We _are_ in public.”

Well, that was fair, and with as many times as Delilah had interrupted, Peter had yet to run off screaming into the night. “You want to date me _and_ spank me?”

Peter tilted his head with a faint smile. “That depends. Do you like spanking?”

Little by little, Peter pulled away Wade’s insecurities, and they had an actual discussion like two adult kinksters. All the negotiation classes Wade had once attended came rushing back. They were interrupted twice more at terrible moments, and Wade would have suspected Delilah was doing it on purpose if she wasn’t so damn sweet and motherly. At least they managed to get some real, _dessert_ pie. Classic Southern pie made everything better.

“What about a softer leather?” Peter asked while they were deep in an impact play discussion.

“It’s not really the leather that’s the problem,” Wade admitted. “It’s the stitching. Leather requires thick stitching and my skin manages to feel it no matter what. You hit with enough force, it’s gonna sink in and pinch. Hell, if it’s not high enough quality, the stitching can rip me open. I’ve bled before from that.”

“Your check, sweetheart,” Delilah said, and they both winced. This time, however, Delilah propped a hand on her hip with a concerned look. “You know, Master Mark has been doin’ that interior stitching for a while, and he hand selects all his leather for quality. He’s got that online store but takes commissions — been in the leatherworking business for thirty years, now. I’d really recommend his stuff if you’re having trouble with that terrible mass market crap.”

Peter was open mouth gawking, and Wade was barely any better. He wheezed out a scandalized, “ _Delilah_.”

The door jingled as someone new entered the restaurant. She turned and was instantly distracted. “Baby Boy! Did you come to see Momma?”

Peter and Wade’s head whipped around to see a tiny wisp of a man who _maybe_ looked legal to drink standing at the front, grinning at Delilah with adoration. He wore a pink collar with a little bow on it that Delilah immediately hurried over to adjust, making the guy blush before she kissed him on the cheek and swatted his ass.

“ _Delilah_ ,” Wade said again, his mind still reeling. “She really _was_ teasing us on purpose.”

The plates jumped as Peter smacked his forehead onto the tabletop. “I’ve heard that Momma Delilah runs the Littles group. I don’t know why I didn’t make that connection.”

Wade began to snicker, and once he’d started, he found he couldn’t stop. “This has to be the most hilarious negotiation I’ve ever been a part of.”

“Date,” Peter said to the table legs. When Wade didn’t respond, Peter sat up with a meaningful look. “I wanted to talk about things, yeah, but if you really don’t mind a relationship, then I want this to be a date.”

“I—” Wade worked his mouth for a while before spilling the first thing that came to mind. “Don’t dates get more perks?”

Peter smirked. “Like a kiss?”

“I can get a kiss?”

Laughing, Peter planted his hands on the table and stood to lean over and drop a soft, lingering kiss on Wade’s lips. “Yeah,” he murmured. “As many as you want.”

~*~

Three months into their new relationship and things were feeling pretty settled and stable between them. They did cute date things that Wade adored. They played around and explored how their kinks worked together. Peter’s medical background meant he was better able to adjust and help Wade during the bad nerve days. Wade had never felt so pampered.

And sometimes, they’d do at-home-only tattoos.

Wade was strapped to the bondage table with those nice padded restraints. This time, he was face up. His hands had _just_ enough room to wiggle. It wasn’t enough to disturb Peter’s work, but it was enough to help Wade look as desperate and trapped as possible. Peter loved seeing Wade like that.

A little rolling cart rattled over to sit next to Wade, containing everything Peter needed for the next tattoo. With that particular sadistic gleam Peter got in his eyes when falling into headspace, he asked, “Are you ready, gorgeous?”

Wade whimpered at the compliment, the wrist cuffs rattling as he instinctively jerked. His head was strapped down, so he couldn’t respond nonverbally. That was on purpose. Peter liked to hear the quiver in Wade’s voice. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Peter shucked his shorts and tossed them carelessly into the corner of the room. He wore only a jockstrap underneath. Next came his shirt, though this was a little slower, enough to tease as the bold lines of his tattoo was revealed.

Wade loved Peter’s tattoo. He wondered if he was already drooling.

Thick, bold lines in navy blue splayed across Peter from sternum to navel, bits of it wrapping around his ribs, and the ends framing the bones of his hips. It was a stylized spider, wicked-looking, and when it was revealed, it proclaimed Peter to be the predator he was. The deadly spider trapped his prey before wrapping them up tight so they couldn’t escape. Then, it was time to feed.

“Ohhh, fuck, you’re so hot,” Wade moaned, his cock already at full attention.

Peter smirked as he climbed up on the table to straddle Wade’s thighs, his bare ass teasing Wade’s sensitive skin. The wrist cuffs rattled once more, but Wade was unable to touch all that glorious, firm skin Peter sported. All he could do was watch as Peter picked up a mean device attached to a length of rope.

“We’re going to have to move that out of the way,” Peter said, deceptively offhand.

Wade whined as the contraption was secured to his cock. His balls were caught between two hoops to keep them from drawing up, and a short sheath of metal wrapped around the base of his dick. There was a loop at the top where the rope connected. Once locked in place, Peter secured the rope to the strap over Wade’s thighs. It kept Wade’s overexcited dick pulled down instead of laying across his stomach and drooling.

When Peter pushed forward and settled back into the position he intended to work in, Wade’s cock was just barely able to brush the skin of Peter’s ass. It was torture. Wade moaned and made a valiant attempt to thrust his hips up and feel that glorious bubble butt, but of course, it did no good. He was well and truly trapped.

Picking up the alcohol wipe, Peter ran it over the skin of Wade’s groin, just above the root of his cock, where the pubic hair should have been. Peter was going to fill that area in. Wade was already breathing hard, the cleaning process alone being a kind of teasing torture — an agonizing delay to the main event.

“This is going to be so pretty on you,” Peter breathed.

Wade’s muscles tensed as he fought the restraints, his cock throbbing already. “Nng, I wanna be so pretty for you.”

Peter smirked. “You already are, handsome.” He ran his fingertips lightly down Wade’s torso, trailing along the patterns of scars, smiling as Wade whimpered and pressed into the straps. It felt like Peter’s fingers were electric, trailing snap and cracks of sensation in their wake. It hurt so wonderfully. “Mmm, so good for me.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Wade babbled, few other words coming to mind that were capable of expressing what was in his head.

Turning back to the rolling table, Peter picked up his mask and hooked it behind his ears. This was a special mask. It was black with the pearly white canines of a predator printed across it. The wicked smile turned on its prey, the gleaming eyes above matched. Wade squirmed under the look, a pathetic whimper catching in the back of his throat. Peter looked like he enjoyed that reaction.

Next, Peter took his time selecting his black gloves and sliding them into place. After that came the gun, making sure everything was in order before it began to buzz. Wade’s breathing grew faster, his nerves almost straining to feel the pain this was going to cause, which would only make the initial touch of needles that much worse. He whined and begged nonsense words as Peter made him wait.

“Are you going to cry for me, Wade?” Peter asked in such a loving tone. It was the contrast that always blew Wade’s mind.

“Please!”

“Good boy.”

Then the needle was in Wade’s skin, and cries of pain and bliss filled the room. The pain was burning and electric. It brought tears to his eyes instantly. He was trembling mere seconds in. And all of that sensation traveled barely any distance at all to fill his dick and pool in his gut. He had hoped it would feel intense, but the reality of it was so much better — so agonizingly better.

The world around him dimmed, as nothing but the lightning bolt feeling of the tattoo filtered through his mind. It traveled through his whole body, tunneling his vision and forcing desperate, strangled noises out of him. Between his legs, his cock throbbed, aching in its own way from clenching against the metal that restrained it. There was so much sensation, so much mind-melting pain and pleasure, yet his dick demanded more if he wanted to cum.

“Need—need it—I need—” Wade babbled, cutting off with a sob.

Peter tutted. “Don’t cum, Wade. It’ll get everywhere. What if you compromise the tattoo? We don’t want you getting an infection.”

Wade whined and thrashed, though it did little good. He didn’t move. The leather creaked and the wrist cuffs rattled and his toes squeezed tight, but that was it. That was all he could do to fight back. “Please, please, please,” he begged.

“Be a good boy, Wade,” Peter said, his voice lilting in that way it did when he was truly enjoying the suffering he was inflicting. “You want to do what you’re told, right?”

“Yes!” Tears streamed down Wade’s cheeks as pain created starbursts in his vision and sent his arousal soaring to new heights. Lava swirled deep in his gut, pleasure burrowing within him, threatening to carve a permanent place there. “I want—I’m good b—Please!”

“That’s it,” Peter hushed as he continued, relentlessly, to work. “Let it sink in deep, baby. Let it take over.”

The fight was draining from Wade. He merely trembled and twitched involuntarily as his nerves fired like sparklers under his skin. His head felt like it was floating away. He was high on so many chemicals his brain was pumping into him. He couldn’t even feel his fingertips or toes anymore. Bit by bit, he sank further into subspace, until the pain and pleasure coursed through him like blood, natural and permanent — inescapable and necessary.

He couldn’t say how long he floated like that, only that his world was narrowed down to his constant screaming desire, fireworks of pain, and Peter’s soothing words and presence. He felt safe, trapped in this space of wondrous agony.

His breathing settled first, followed by the soft sounds of the room in his ears. He blinked, and tears still clinging to his eyelashes ran down his face. Gradually, his vision focused on the beautiful view of Peter’s smile hovering over his face. Fiery pain still licked across his skin, but all it did was feed into the molten core of pleasure inside of him. He whimpered as his mind focused on that denial once more. Precum gushed from the head of his cock.

Peter looked down their bodies and laughed at Wade’s misery before their eyes met once more. “You were such a good boy, following orders.”

Wade moaned.

“Didn’t it feel good to hold it all inside?”

It had felt like an invasion, like some living thing taking over and reworking his very existence. “Yes,” Wade rasped, and meant it.

The smile Peter gave lit up the room. Wade sighed in deep contentment. Peter was so perfect — an angel Wade didn’t deserve but was learning to accept love from. “I think it’s time for your reward, then.”

With a wicked smirk, Peter crawled back down Wade’s body and released the metal keeping Wade’s dick captive. The moment the weight of it was gone, Wade’s balls pulled up tight to his body. It felt like he’d been edging for hours, riding that point of almost enough but never tipping over.

The light brush of Peter’s fingers ripped a sob from Wade’s chest. Peter was as slow and careful as ever, positioning Wade’s cock just so before leaning over to lick the precum from the head of it. Leather straps creaked as Wade jerked and choked on a scream. Peter blew a stream of air, sending a shiver up Wade’s spine and teasing his cock with what it wanted — _needed._

Peter hummed a delighted noise in the back of his throat, and then what little Wade could see of fluffy brown hair while his head was still strapped to the table disappeared. Abruptly, his cock was enveloped in warm and wet, straight down to the hilt. The noises that left Wade’s mouth as that talented mouth teased and tortured definitely disturbed the neighbors, soundproofing or not.

It didn’t take long at all, though Wade hadn’t expected it would. His orgasm hit with force, sucking him under like a riptide. It felt like his soul was being sucked right out of his dick. Peter swallowed it down with ease, staying in place to catch every last drop as Wade finally, finally emptied his aching balls. When at last Wade was finished, consciousness a blip on the outer edges of his mind, his whole body quaking with sensitivity, Peter pulled off with a pop.

“I think you enjoyed that,” Peter said, a smirk clear in his voice, though Wade couldn’t uncross his eyes long enough to see it.

Wade groaned in response before trying to form words and failing. Peter chuckled as he crawled back up the table to hover Wade’s face one more. The backs of Peter’s fingers trailed lightly down Wade’s cheek, causing a full-body shiver as Wade’s nerves tried and failed to sort themselves out after everything that had happened. Wade sucked in a shuddering breath and blinked hard, wanting nothing more than to see Peter’s face haloed by the ambient lighting of the room.

“Hey, baby,” Peter whispered when Wade’s eyes finally met and stayed on his. “Tell me what you want next.”

It took a few attempts to find words, but Peter was patient. He wouldn’t move to let Wade out until he was ready. After all, releasing the pressure might feel worse than keeping him strapped down if his nerves were particularly fried. But that wasn’t what Wade wanted anyways. He wasn’t ready to end this yet. He wanted so much more from Peter — as much as Peter could give.

“I want…”

“Yeah, darling?” Peter asked, his fingers moving along Wade’s neck, causing Wade’s eyelashes to flutter.

“I want to taste you.”

A devious grin spread across Peter’s face, that gleam of sadism creeping back into his eyes once more. “Well, if you insist.”

Finally, finally, that glorious ass was taking over Wade’s entire world. He opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue, ready to die happy strapped to this table with Peter riding his face. Never in Wade’s life had he been more grateful to the entire history of tattoos that led him to this perfect moment.

To this perfect scene.

To this perfect relationship.

To this perfect Peter.

**Author's Note:**

> Quick note on my usage of top/bottom. In the kink community, there are a loooot of words to indicate what you are other than dom/sub, so as a generalization, top/bottom is normally referenced as a “type” and used for the most part as a catch-all term or by people who don’t feel they really fit into anything more specific. Since I didn’t strictly specify all of Peter and Wade’s preferences in kink or sex, I didn’t feel like coming up with anything more exacting for the story. Also for the usual AO3 tags, since penetrative sex doesn’t really happen. lol 
> 
> No, I did not establish safewords or stoplight system since they didn’t have a use for them. If either of them needed to stop, then saying no, stop, don’t, I want to quit, I want to leave, I need a break, and so on would suffice.
> 
> So this idea came from a collective discussion in Bromantic back in _December_. It’s taken this long for me to get this off the ground. My fanfic writing has been slow lately. ^.^’ Also, this was supposed to be a quick oneshot… It got away from me. @.@ Per usual. 
> 
> http://thatvixenchick.tumblr.com  
> https://twitter.com/The_Vixen13 (nsfw)


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